Here's the rub, Rapp: the imagination which you claim is the figmenter of all of us figments itself, in truth, a figment of your imagination; the truth is that we are not, ourselves figments of your imagination, but rather that your impressions of us are figments of your figmentary imagination, which is a product, in turn, of your actual imagination. Not that it doesn't take considerable horsepower to dummy up a whole extra layer like that and then imagine everything into it, but much as I respect the heroic aspects of your delusion, it's a case of loving honor more and all that.

You are all figments of MY imagination. Chonga is a figment of a figment. Her/his ideas are figments of a figment of a figment. I believe that Apple would sell and iPod to anything with the money, especially since they are already sold by any store which can cough up the wholesale price. Face it: Apple, while making decent products in their Chinese factories, sold out years ago. Where is the vision that created the Macintosh or the Lisa? -- gone, sold for as figurative thirty pieces of silver! No further proof is needed than the Apple/Samsung lawsuit: "Your product is rectangular! You breached out patents on rounded corners! We patented the color black! Waaaaaa!"

Yeah, Chongo, but see, that's the difference between you and me.., I actually have a wife, and a checkbook, and a car I can drive around the face of the Earth, and I have actual friends whom I can hug and laugh and sing and make music with. As a figment, in your water-thin "world" as you so fatuously call it, you have none of these. Even fictitious ones! Oh, and I have an iPhone, also. Neener, neener--Apple wouldn't even SELL an iPhone to a simian.

Y'know, Amos, I hafta ask myself sometimes...why do I even bother talkin' to a presence as insubstantial and downright unlikely as you are? It seems quite probable to me that YOU are a figment of someone's imagination. You don't pull much weight or gain much credibility in my world, mister. You are just a vague, dreamlike figure to me, see? On the day that you walk up the stairs to my front door, knock on it, and ask fer my assistance to track down the plumber yer wife ran off with...then I will take you seriously...providin' you can ante up a decent retainer, that is.

As a mere figment, sir, you are not authorized to know the breadth and height of Little Hawk's secret human longings for the right kind of female companionship; further, as an alien to the very species, you have no idea to what extent such fiery wishing can be converted into sublimated creative power, something of which you yourself are the ideational spawn.

Amos, you mention that LH's probem is he is lookin' in Orillia. Not so! He ain't lookin' at ALL as far as I can see. He seems to have given up totally on skirt-chasin', romance or whatever you would call it. I find this incomprehensible. But it's his problem, not mine.

A publisher is interested enough in my brother's book to ask for evaluation chapters.

When I'm related to a rich and famous writer (especially the rich part, 'cause he's gullible) I'll still post here. I like to keep in touch with the common people, the simple folk, the great unwashed, the plebes, the MOABites.

How I wish the mighty MOAB Would come to me in time And pay me for the work I've done All in my youth and prime. I'd fight for Mother's glory From sea to shining sea. And I never would return again To write BS for free.

Canadian history is, for the most part, a bit more sober and less dramatic than that (with a couple of exciting parts when the USA tried to take us over, admittedly....oh, and there was the Riel Rebellion, but I digress...).

gnu, I thought it was Sergeant Renfrew and his dog Cuddles. Are you sure it's Corporal Renfrew?

Oh, another thing, gnu...I noticed you engaging in furious combat with the legions of the terminally self-righteous over on another "gun control"-related thread. My heart went out to you, as it does to anyone who gets drawn into such fractious and profitless and mean-spirited discussions, all of which soon descend into gross stereotyping and personal attack on one set of people by another set of people. One is better off to just avoid such threads entirely, I think, and I usually do make sure to avoid (posting on) them....but then a shocking thought occurred to me! Your member name gnu is an anagram for the word.....gun! Yikes! I wonder if the holier-than-thou who have the moral solution to everything have noticed THAT!!!!

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Forget this Preston stuff. That was TV. Telly. The Boob Toob. Or that radio, which is better, but still not as good as poetry.

As for William Preston, world-renowned Mountie, I of course recognized the name instanter. But that was merely the FIGMENT William Preston.

The REAL William Preston has done so many things it is unbelievable--he was an Irish poet, a Confederate general, a senator, Presiding Bishop of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints...the list goes on and on:

William Preston (actor) (19211998) William Preston (Freemason) (17421818), Scottish author of Illustrations of Masonry William Preston (Kentucky) (18161887), U.S. politician, ambassador, and Confederate officer William Preston (poet) (17531807), Irish poet William Preston (Virginia) (17291783), Irish-born frontier Virginia leader, signer of the Fincastle Resolutions William Preston (Royal Navy officer), captain in the British Royal Navy who, along with James Stirling, was responsible for the foundations of Perth and Fremantle in Western Australia William Preston (UK politician) (18741941), Conservative M.P. for Walsall, 19241929 William Alfred Preston (18481944), MPP in Ontario, Canada William B. Preston (Mormon) (18301908), Presiding Bishop of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 18841907 William Ballard Preston (18051862), U.S. politician from Virginia William C. Preston (17941860), U.S. senator from the South Carolina William Campbell Preston (17941860), U.S. politician from Pennsylvania and Virginia William G. Preston, American architect Billy Preston (19462006), American musician

Folipfiftic Sool is not a name-calling, Rapp; it is an Ultimate Destination for Metaphysical Wanderers like your noble self. I think you basically turn left at the first star past the Materialist Nebula, and straight on til morning.

It's "Thippee ti-thi-tho get along little dogies" and "Thee-HAH!" and "Thoung ladth, thou're in big trouble!" and "Whth, mommth dearest?" and "Billth the Kid" and "John Wathne" and "The Battle of Thpres" and "Night and thay, thou are the one" and so on. I don't think this will cause manth problems. Ads can still sath things like "Thou'll be thounger looking bth using Oil of Olath". Thes, I think we should honor our ancestral heritage and again use "TH" where ever a "Y" now appears.

Hmmm...there's the problem of I and J, and W can be replaced...J'll have to do some more thjnkjng on thjs. VVe should reallth keep our language true to jt's roots.

Thanks! Last night I drove that final 100 miles through a driving rain (tongue not in cheek because I had my teeth gritted as I kept the truck between the ditches). Today I feel a little bit like Dorothy, glad to wake to a technicolor daylight world.

Well, yes, I did. But that does not excuse your sloppiness in misappropriating the third person singular. It's just careless--like thinking that Juliet on her balcony is asking Romeo where he is. Silly.

Did you know that the letter "Y", as in "Ye Olde Shoppe", was a stand-in for the letters "TH"? You can find an excellent example of this this usage on Shakespeare's epitaph. "You" was originally "Thou".

I knew Stilly was back because, except for a perpetual cloud of Stygian gloom over Blind River, Ontario, the world became brighter.

Shame, I can only tell you that what I have for you shall be hunger, thirst, weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth, swords double edged, spirits created for revengement, serpents, worms, scorpions, hammers, wormwood, water of gall, the spirit of tempest, and other things of like sort. Whereby are signified unto you the multitude and dreadful terror of the most horrible torments and pains. There shall be likewise darkness inward and outward, both of body and soul. There shall be fire also, not as this fire here, that tormenteth a little, and shortly endeth, but such a fire as I requireth, which torments exceedingly, and shall never make an end of that tormenting.

Nah, no worries. I've already done millennia of time much harder than that. 'S nothin' all that new or scary. He's jes' puffin' himself up and taking credit for the whole Wheel as though he had anything to do widdit. No worries.

Excuse me, Amos, but you forget that if I stop thinking about you you will cease to exist. Should I redo that eensy-teensy-weensy part of my mind devoted to your continued existence you would blip out and no memory of your existence would exist. But I am merciful and have not wrath in me, and being all-forgiving you may assume your continued existence -- unless of course you really, really piss me off. It is then that you would feel my wrath (for while I have not wrath in me I am also All-Wrathful) and you might, for a few moments, find it unpleasant.

For it is everlasting wrath. It would be dreadful to suffer my fierceness and wrath one moment; but you will suffer it to all eternity. There will be no end to this exquisite horrible misery. When you look forward, you shall see a long for ever, a boundless duration before you, which will swallow up your thoughts, and amaze your soul; and you will absolutely despair of ever having any deliverance, any end, any mitigation, any rest at all. You will know certainly that you must wear out long ages, millions of millions of ages, in wrestling and conflicting with this almighty merciless vengeance; and then when you have so done, when so many ages have actually been spent by you in this manner, you will know that all is but a point to what remains. So that your punishment will indeed be infinite. Oh, who can express what the state of a soul in such circumstances is! All that I can possibly say about it, gives but a very feeble, faint representation of it; it is inexpressible and inconceivable to you.

ANd yes, Rapparree, you are far more harsh on him than reason could dictate. When you ignore the real villainy of the world and exert such energies in combatting delusory figments, one can only assume you have long since reached the point at which the world was too much with you, and surrendered your Articles of Inhabitation thereunto. A sorry thing, for a man once in full, to be left combating moonbeams, but it could be much worse. He could have become a Republican.

I've been far too hard on Shame and I apologize. Several people have told me that Shame isn't "as bad as all that" and that his personal cleanliness doesn't "leave a lot to be desired." Since these are people who seem to know him quite well, I'll take their words for it. I'm also told that, attracted by the bright lights and big city life, he moved from Blind River quite some time ago and, should you wish to meet him, can often be found at 457 Church Street in Toronto.

So, Shame, you're not as bad as I assumed you were, nor are you as stupid as I once thought. Shame, my opinion of you can't get any higher!

Know anyone else in that list, Shame? You probably should -- some are from Greater Sudbury. Blind River must be considered part of Sudbury, after all.

Odd that YOUR name isn't on that list, isn't it? Oh, wait -- there's a list of Canadian drunks and perverts! And your name isn't on it, either! I guess you'll just have to be considered with the rest of the garbage.